


Graced

by Aaron_The_8th_Demon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, Ignores 15x20, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Character Death, no beta we die like cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27672161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon
Summary: Dean wants to be better. He wants to do better at mourning this time, because Cas’ death was somehow not ugly, there were no pieces lying around or pools of blood. Because Cas apparently loved him that much to not leave behind even the tiniest possible mess. That means Dean stops himself from throwing things or breaking shit or screaming at the top of his lungs at Sammy. He tries to do better, just for Cas.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 65





	Graced

**Author's Note:**

> I got sucked into this show because Tumblr suddenly exploded about the gay angel. So I did a speedrun (read: watching the pilot and the last two episodes of season 3, and after that skipping every episode which didn't have Cas) on Netflix. However Netflix is a bitch and only has up through 15x13, and the only episode I've seen live thanks to a pirate stream was 15x20 and that makes me very, very angry for reasons everyone else has already pointed out many times.
> 
> Anyway here's yet another fix-it for that garbage ending.

It’s the smallest, dumbest fucking thing that finally breaks him.

Dean knows he’s bad at grieving. He’s the fucking _worst_ at it, ask anybody who’s known him more than five minutes. He throws things, and he yells at people he cares about, and he doubles down on his drinking. But this… this is different. It’s a different grief. Lots of times before it would’ve been an ugly and meaningless death, a body to burn. So this is different. Because Cas died specifically to make sure Dean wouldn’t, after blurting out apparently over a decade’s worth of _feelings_ and shit.

So Dean… wants to be better. He wants to do better at mourning this time, because Cas’ death was somehow not ugly, there were no pieces lying around or pools of blood. Because Cas apparently loved him that much to not leave behind even the tiniest possible mess. That means Dean stops himself from throwing things or breaking shit or screaming at the top of his lungs at Sammy. He tries to do better, just for Cas.

So he works on stuff. Baby, obviously, he does care routines on his car. But he also works on picking up some more sign language like Sam’s been doing, so that their conversations during dinner can be easier or whatever. He teaches his new dog a couple tricks. But most of all Dean does his best not to drink so much. And he thinks Cas would probably be proud of him for that, maybe.

But it’s the most unexpected fucking thing that rears up to bite him in the ass - Sam and Eileen don’t know he’s eavesdropping, because they don’t know how good he’s getting. Which is on purpose. He wanted to give his little brother and his little brother’s girlfriend a nice surprise for once. Which means they’re talking right next to him assuming all he can say is “yes,” “no,” “thank you,” and “fuck off Sammy.”

_“He still looks very sad.”_

_“He is sad,”_ says Sam, and Dean doesn’t miss how his brother glances at him. _“That’s why he’s being so weird lately. Cas has died before but something about this one fucked Dean up pretty bad and he won’t even tell me about it.”_

Dean tries really hard to look like he’s watching his laptop and not their hands.

 _“Cas was in love with him,”_ Eileen points out. Of course she knows.

 _“I knew it!”_ Sam signs excitedly. Then he slumps again and goes back to looking worried. _“Dean is going to snap. This really hurt him but he won’t talk about it.”_

Oh, look at that. Dean’s about to fucking cry right in front of both of them. That can’t be allowed to stand.

“You guys know I can hear you, right?” he snaps, slamming his laptop shut and glaring. He _won’t_ fucking cry where they can see him, dammit. “Or… not _hear,_ but… you know what I fucking mean!”

“Actually we didn’t know that,” Sam mumbles, and at least the bastard looks guilty about it.

Dean’s going to cry. That’s just not okay. He gets up from the table and pretty much flees to his room, throwing the door shut as hard as he can and dropping onto his mattress. There’s whiskey stashed under the bed and he reaches his hand down to it, and his dry spell finally breaks. No glasses (like he’d bother with one anyway right now), so Dean unscrews it and drinks right from the bottle until it’s impossible to swallow more.

Whiskey doesn’t work right away, though. And Dean still ends up crying. At least he manages to be quiet about it.

“Cas.” Dean’s voice is a rasp and a whimper at the same time, somehow. “I uh. I haven’t prayed since y-since. Y’know. I guess I didn’t think you can hear me. I gotta say some stuff, if that’s okay.” He wipes his nose on the back of his wrist. “Fuck, Cas, I’m sorry for bein’ such a dick to you all those times, first of all. And when I had the Mark, how I beat the fuck outta you when you were just tryna help me… god, Cas, how can you love me when I’m so awful?” Dean chokes on a sob for a few seconds and gasps before he can talk again. “I just. I never would’a… I never would’a been so shitty to you if I knew we weren’t just friends, and that really says somethin’ about how bad I am to my friends, huh? I know you said all that stuff when Billie was comin’ after us and all… and I’m sorry… but you’re so fuckin’ wrong, Cas, I’m _bad,_ I’m bad for everythin’ around me and I don’t deserve for you to love me. But I also really wish you would’a gave me the chance to say somethin’ back to you.”

The whiskey burns in his stomach and tears leak out of his eyes. Dean wants Cas back, he wants the dumb trench coat and the literal interpretation of _everything_ anyone says and the permanent frown and the bright, bright blue eyes.

Dean’s so busy crying and feeling bad for himself that he almost doesn’t hear the quiet _swoosh_ of angel wings.

“Hello.”

He spins around so fast he actually flings himself off the bed, and stares up from the floor at Jack, whose hand is still raised in greeting.

“Jack?”

“I heard you praying.”

“Okay. Wait.” Dean drops the bottle, which he thank… whoever remembered to put the cap back on before falling over. “I thought you said you don’t want people prayin’ to you, first of all, and second I wasn’t payin’ to you anyway, so why’re you listenin’ in?”

“It was an accident,” Jack admits. “I heard you saying my father’s name and got hopeful.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean scrubs his face on his palm. “Sorry to mess with you, kiddo. He ain’t here.” The whiskey is definitely sinking in by now, he can feel it. “Unless you got some way to get him back, in which case - I’m all ears, buddy.”

“I do have ideas about that, yes.”

“Great!” Dean tries to sit up but realizes it’s not actually worth the effort and stops.

“It… will require you to die.”

“Awesome,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“It’s only temporary and the means to an end.”

“Dammit, haven’t I done enough dyin’ by now?” Dean groans.

“Yes, and I’m sorry about that. Would you still like to hear my idea?”

He sighs. “Yeah, go ahead.”

* * *

“Dean-”

“Shut up, Sammy. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Dean! _Stop!_ Stop and think about this!” his brother demands.

“I have thought about it,” Dean grunts, shoving past Sam and lying on the bed in their shitty little infirmary. “Should I take off my shoes and get comfy?” he jokes, looking at Jack now.

“I don’t think it matters very much,” Jack answers. “Don’t worry, it’ll only hurt for five or six seconds.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic.”

“How likely is this to actually work?” Sam asks frantically.

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried it before. But the Empty is still weakened, so right now we have a good chance to rescue Castiel.”

“And you’ll be there the whole time, right?” Dean asks.

“Yes. As soon as you find him, I’ll pull you both out.”

He takes a deep breath. “Alright, let’s do it.”

Jack’s hands rest on his chest, and Dean feels like his insides are glowing even though he can’t actually see it. It’s a weird feeling, getting stuffed full of angel grace. No wonder Cas could always take so much punishment, he feels about five hundred times stronger than usual, even more than when he had the Mark of Cain. Dean wonders if it would be too much to ask to get to keep it after this, because it’s kinda awesome.

“Are you ready, Dean?”

“This is insane!”

“Shut up, Sammy!” Dean looks back at Jack again. “Yeah, get it over with.”

“It’s temporary,” Jack says one last time, then reams the angel blade straight into the middle of his chest.

Dean screams. He has _never_ felt a pain this bad, not even that time Metatron gutted him. The second the pain finally stops it feels like he’s being yanked downwards, kinda like when he got eaten by a Hellhound and dragged into the pit, except not. He can’t see a god damn thing, either. What’s extra-weird (and a little ironic) is that there’s a phantom sensation of Jack’s hand holding onto his upper arm, just under the same spot where Cas grabbed him and ripped him out of Hell twelve years ago. But that’s good. That’s his lifeline through all this.

It takes a minute for Dean to figure out which way is up. This blackness is grabbing and pressing him from every direction at once, which is pretty annoying first of all and second… super confusing. But he figures it out eventually and stands up. And he can’t see _anything._ Actually that’s not true, he can see himself, but that’s not all that helpful.

“Cas?” Dean yells. “Cas, can you hear me?”

Nothing. Not even a fucking echo.

“Cas!” he bellows, this time from the bottom of his chest. “Cas! I’m here! I’mma get you out, okay?”

The wings take a little getting used to. They’re not like. In the way or anything, but he can feel them sticking outta his back and it’s just so damn weird. He only had them once before, when alt-Michael was in him to go after Lucifer. Maybe he can ask Jack to let him keep the grace without the damn wings.

Dean starts walking.

“Cas, if you can hear me, say something!”

Still nothing. He’s only been here for five minutes and it’s already pissing him off. His stupid wings move a little bit, but it’s not on purpose. He has no idea what to do with them or how they actually work or anything. How did Cas fly, back before the fall? How did he do it, the zipping from place to place? Actually… is Cas still warded, now that he’s in the Empty? Can Dean find him this way?

Dean _does_ know that angel wings don’t work like bird wings or bug wings. They don’t “flap,” and flying isn’t actually flying. It’s changing locations without actually moving. So, there must be something in the brain that has to do with it, right? God-Chuck-no, _Jack,_ he hopes it’s as simple as just picturing where he wants to be and then he’s there. So Dean closes his eyes like that makes any difference in this endless fucking dark and imagines his angel.

 _Bring me here,_ he thinks at himself, as hard as he can. _Bring me here. Wherever he is, that’s where I wanna be._

It’s like getting sucked through a damn vacuum cleaner hose or something. Dean’s so glad Sam’s not here for the embarrassing yelp he lets out, because he’s fucking startled okay, he didn’t know it would feel like this. And then when he’s not getting sucked along anymore, it’s because he didn’t pop back into existence still standing, and now he drops about ten feet and lands directly on his face. He’s totally disoriented and just lies there for a second, vibrating from the impact.

“Ughn…” Dean hears himself groan, but he didn’t actually make that noise on purpose. “Sunuva bitch…” Shit, he’s drooling a little bit. “Cas, you better be here after that…”

Dean sits up and rubs his forehead even though it’s already stopped hurting. Damn wings. Although actually it probably helped Cas to have billions of years to practice before even _meeting_ Dean. Getting up off his ass, Dean looks all around but still can’t find Cas anywhere. Is it because he was so freaked out by the vacuum-hose-feeling that his focus broke? That must be it. So Dean closes his eyes again, and he’s a little more ready this time, and he lands on his feet when the vacuum thing has stopped on its own.

And in front of Dean, Cas is lying on the ground in a pile. Not moving. Not breathing. Not doing anything.

“Cas!” Dean yells, dropping hard onto his knees. “Cas…” He grabs Cas by the shoulder and shakes - nothing. “Cas, c’mon man, wake up… Cas. Cas! Dammit, I gotta get you outta here, c’mon!”

No response at all. Dean panics and starts shaking him.

“Cas, Cas, wake up, Cas, _Cas!_ We gotta get outta here!”

Nothing. Fucking _nothing._ Dean drags his angel into his arms, kinda cradling, and it feels so good to hold Cas at all. Dean pats his hair and the side of his face, waiting for him to wake up and also for Jack to pull them both out.

“Okay. Okay. We’re gonna be free in a minute, and then you’re gonna wake up, right?” Dean hugs Cas closer to his chest and his wings wrap around both of them, totally by accident. “Dammit, Jack, get us the hell outta this place!”

He almost forgot the hand was on his arm this whole time until now, because suddenly it gets real tight and he’s being dragged through clouds of steel wool. Dean clings to Cas, refusing to let go of him now. It feels like he’s getting peeled and eventually it gets to the point where it doesn’t make sense that neither of them is shredded up like cabbage and bleeding all over the place.

And then he opens his eyes.

Dean comes to on the shitty infirmary bed, shaking and weak and coughing up a giant blood clot that probably happened when he got speared through the fucking breastbone. When he’s done hacking up gore out of his lungs, he looks over to the only other bed and sees Jack and Sammy dicking around and repositioning Cas, who’s not even alive by the look of it.

“Cas,” Dean wheezes, reaching over an arm because no way in hell can he actually sit up right now, forget about standing. “Cas…”

“Dean, are you okay?” Sam demands, forgetting all about Cas and coming over to him instead.

“Sammy… he alive?”

“Yeah, yeah he’s alive. Uh. Jack had to make him ditch his grace to get him out, I guess he’s gonna give him a soul now instead so he can be fully human.”

“Okay.” Dean nods a little bit and then sinks into the pillow and the awful, shitty mattress from the 50s. He doesn’t mean to fall asleep and when he wakes up again it’s been like a day and a half. “Sammy?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Dean opens his eyes. “How’s Cas?”

“Um.”

“Sam.”

“He’s the same. It’s okay, he’ll probably wake up soon.”

Dean groans as he sits up, rubbing his chest. It’s sore even though there’s no hole or scar or anything.

“Dammit… at least I got right in one try, huh?”

“Do you want some water or anything?”

“Guess again on my choice of beverage, Sammy.”

“Hey, _no._ You just _died,_ Dean. The last thing you need is to get loaded up on booze.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.” But Sam’s grinning at him, clearly glad he’s okay.

Jack apparently fucked off back to Heaven or whatever, because Dean doesn’t see him at all. For whatever’s left of the day Sam and Eileen take turns hanging out in the infirmary, keeping an eye on Dean and especially on Cas, who got fixed with an IV by… somebody. And Dean really hates this. Cas is basically comatose but Dean can’t even sit up long enough to look at him properly.

“Cas,” he calls sometimes, still really hoarse from the massive fucking chest trauma.

But Cas never answers.

“Cas,” Dean tries again.

Not even a twitch.

* * *

It takes three days for Dean to be back on his feet, and even then he’s all woozy and shit if he stays standing too long or walks around too much. Meanwhile Cas still hasn’t done a damn thing but lie there, totally unconscious. At this point they don’t really have any other choice besides take him to a hospital, which means fake names, fake documents, and a whole rash of fucking excuses for Cas’ condition. He’s clearly not gonna get better on his own and none of them have the skills needed to take care of him.

What that means for Dean in particular is camping out in a chair by the damn ICU bed, watching Cas do nothing while the beeping of the monitor slowly drives him outta his fucking skull. He wanted Cas back, so bad, but not like this. This is… an awful joke. It’s sickening, actually, how much the universe or whoever still wants to make Dean suffer.

What really makes the irony extra ugly is the way he convinced the staff to just let him stay the whole time: well, this vegetable is his husband! Obviously!

So Dean’s pretty much demoted to a witness. He sits, he watches. Nurses and less often doctors come through the room. They check monitors, write shit down, move Cas so he won’t get bed sores (whatever the hell that is), change the IV bags. Sometimes they do scans or whatever on him and have the same random-ass and nonsensical conclusion. Cas’ brain seems like it’s behaving the same as a sleeping person, which means there’s no reason for him to be completely unresponsive the way he is. None of the medical staff can figure out why.

After three days of this Dean’s had enough.

It’s been almost a week and Cas isn’t awake. There’s nothing Dean can do about this. Give him a demon to slay or a vampire to decapitate instead, please. Not this…

Dean closes his eyes and folds his hands together.

“Jack,” he whispers. “I’m-I’m sorry, buddy, I know you don’t want people praying to you and all that shit. But Cas still hasn’t woken up and I’m getting real scared by now that he ain’t gonna at all. So uh. You don’t even hafta do anything, just-just tell _me_ what to do, okay? Tell me how I’m s’posed to fix this and get him back.”

The quiet wing-flappy noise. “Hello.”

“I thought you’re all about not meddling in shit,” Dean comments as he turns his head to look.

“He’s my father, Dean.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m not complaining or anything. So what do I do?”

Jack comes over, puts his hands on both their heads. “Go find him.”

Cas described how Heaven works once to Dean. About how, outside people’s loops of favorite memories, there’s these bright white hallways with doors. That’s what the inside of Cas’ mind looks like. Dean’s walking down a damn hallway.

“Cas?” Why does this somehow feel like the Empty all over again. “C’mon, man, why do we always gotta do shit the hard way?”

It actually doesn’t take Dean that long to figure out what’s going on for once, because all these stupid doors have labels on them.

_Every time I failed in battle._

_Every time I had to work with demons._

_Every time I killed another angel by accident._

_Every time I killed another angel on purpose._

_Every time an angel died on my watch when I wasn’t directly involved._

_Every time an innocent person died on my watch when I wasn’t directly involved._

_Every time I failed Heaven._

_Every time I failed God._

_Every time I failed humanity._

_Every time I failed Bobby Singer._

_Every time I failed Sam Winchester._

_Every time I failed Dean Winchester._

_Every time I let Bobby Singer get hurt._

_Every time I let Sam Winchester get hurt._

_Every time I let Dean Winchester get hurt._

_Every time I couldn’t save Dean Winchester from death._

_Every time I disappointed Dean Winchester._

_Every time I directly hurt Dean Winchester._

_Every time I could’ve told Dean Winchester I love him but didn’t._

That one gets Dean to stop walking, even though he already knows by now. This hallway is all of Cas’ regrets, things he’s ashamed of.

“Cas, man, your fucking guilt complex is outta control,” Dean calls out, knowing how much of a god damn hypocrite he is by saying that. “Don’t you have anything _good_ in here?”

Pacing around in this fucking hallway, Dean doesn’t get how there aren’t more hallways, this is like an extra-long shipping container but with doors. The ends are closed off. Great. Fucking _great._ Dean rolls his eyes and starts opening doors, which feels about as good as being hit in the face with a sledgehammer. There’s little flashes that play behind Dean’s eyes each time he cracks one’a these damn doors, and the real sucker-punch is always the feelings. Hurt, torment, despair, fear, loss. But Cas has to be behind a door in here, because there’s no place else he could be hiding that Dean can see.

It takes _forever_ to go through them all, and getting smacked with the backwash of all Cas’ bad memories over and over again like this is enough to make Dean wanna shoot himself. It hurts him, too, in a way that’s not residual. It hurts him to know that Cas has been walking around with this pain, this grief, this _guilt._ The other takeaway Dean gets from this is just how unloved Cas has felt. It’s not only the shame or the absence of affection, Cas never thought he deserved to be loved, either.

Dean gets it now.

If there hadn’t been a deal with the Empty, Cas never would’a told him at all. Because Cas was so scared and couldn’t cope with Dean not saying it back. This realization feels about as good as when Jack shishkebabed him with an angel blade a few days ago and he hates himself for everything he’s ever done to make Cas feel undeserving of him.

“Cas…” He stops. He has no idea what to say and it takes him a second to settle for just blurting out everything that he’s thinking. “Cas, I’m so fucking sorry, okay? And - yeah, you’ve done stuff that’s made me mad sometimes, but I never _stay_ pissed at you. And I know that everything you ever did is because you thought you were doing the right thing. Maybe that got your ass in hot water a lot, but you never did anything bad for the sake of doing something bad. I’m not mad, Cas. I’m… I’m real fucking sad, okay? I’m sad, and I miss you, and I just want you back.”

No answer. Of course there’s no answer, Dean’s over here bearing his soul or whatever and Cas ain’t even listening. Dean doesn’t know what else to do, and he doesn’t know how to get outta here, so he sits down for awhile with his head in his hands until eventually his ass goes numb and he has to stand up again.

Another door has showed up. Of _course_ it has! There’s finally a door at the end of the hall. Dean growls and goes over to it to read the label.

_The only two things I don’t regret._

His palms sweat a little, but he opens the door anyway. And this time it’s not bits and flashes. He watches Cas piecing him back together, making him whole after Alistair tore him apart. And once he’s assembled again, Cas grabs him by the shoulder and drags his worthless ass free from the pit. When Cas’ posse of angels have made it out again, most of them vanish. And Dean watches Cas carrying him, laying him down gently in his coffin the way someone puts a baby in a crib for a nap. It’s tender and sweet, in a really weird way.

The vision fades into something else, something Dean really, _really_ doesn’t wanna see a second time. He’s forced to watch Cas die, but from an outside position; he can see himself and his angel in front of him. Tears burn his eyes but he’s not allowed to look away for some reason. How the hell does Cas not regret this, _this_ of all things?!

Finally that goes away too. Dean wipes his face on his palm and tries to get his breaths to stop shaking, and he stares into an empty white room. Cas is standing in the middle, perfectly still, back to Dean.

“Cas?” Dean whispers, taking a step forward and immediately stopping again.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas, please come back with me.”

“Why?”

Is he fucking serious with that question right now?

“Because I want you to!” Dean shouts. He’s terrified that Cas will say no, stay comatose forever. “Because you’re my best friend and I miss you! Because watching you die is one’a the worst things I’ve _ever_ had to see! You got me outta Hell and I got you outta the Empty, so you just need to quit hiding in here and wake up!”

“I hope you understand how I meant it.”

“Huh?”

“I love you, Dean.”

“Then come back,” he whispers. Silence. Cas doesn’t turn to look at him or anything, anything at all. “Cas?”

“Fine.” He sounds so resigned about it.

And then Dean’s eyes open, and he’s back in the damn hospital room. He reaches over and shakes Cas’ shoulder.

“Cas, you awake?”

“Yes, Dean, I’m awake,” he rasps, cracking his eyes to look and then closing them again right away.

Dean can’t stop himself - and even if he could, he wouldn’t want to. He yanks Cas upright in bed for the tightest, squeezingest hug possible. Cas hugs back, a little weaker after spending almost a week in bed doing nothing. And afterwards their foreheads rest together while Dean sobs and Cas giggles hysterically, both of them losing their minds for a few seconds. And Dean is so glad he’s back.

* * *

“Okay, take it easy…” Dean says as he helps Cas slowly come down the stairs into the bunker.

“Humanity is so fragile,” Cas comments, somehow not bitter about it. “And I now have approximately forty years of it ahead of me.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“It reminds me of when Metatron expelled all the angels from Heaven. Being human took some acclimating and now I need to remember what I learned then.”

“Yeah, well, speaking of that, I got you some stuff to start with that’ll at least make the next few days a little easier on you,” Dean grins, already missing the weight now that they’re on the floor and Cas doesn’t have to cling to him for dear life anymore.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“You don’t even know what I did and you’re thanking me,” he teases.

“Yes. Regardless of the result, the intent is still kind of you. That’s what I’m thanking you for.”

“Uh. Okay. So I got you some stuff to wear, because I figure you prob’ly don’t wanna be borrowing my underpants, but we are gonna have to go clothes shopping for real pretty soon because you’ve only got enough for like three days before you’ll need to do laundry. I also got you your own laptop.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. I know you don’t trust computers, but this one’s not anything special or too fancy,” Dean promises. “And I remembered which movies you watched with me that you liked, they’re all on there so you can see them again whenever you want. And uh…” Shit, now he’s embarrassed, even though there’s no reason. “I. I know you said something about peanut butter sandwiches awhile back, so. There’s a couple waiting for you in the fridge that I made this morning before I came to get you from the hospital.”

Cas is quiet for way too long, and Dean starts to sweat. Eventually: “Dean, your thoughtfulness flatters and humbles me.”

“It’s just sandwiches, Cas.”

“No, it isn’t,” he says quietly. “The fact that you took the time to recall these tiny and insignificant details from conversations that took place many years ago frankly astounds me, and I don’t know how to express my appreciation for it.”

“‘Appreciate’ by eating them and getting healthy,” Dean jokes. “When you feel better again, so will I.”

He sits Cas in the kitchen and gets the plate out of the fridge. They hang out while Cas eats and then for a little bit after, not really saying much. Dean knows they should talk about… _that,_ but he has no idea what to say and he guesses Cas doesn’t either. Part of Dean’s problem is he’s not actually sure how he feels about this. And all that happens when he tries to untangle this shit is remembering the one time his dad fucking thrashed him for looking at another boy a few seconds too long. (Or something like that. Dean doesn’t actually remember _what_ it was he did wrong, because he ended up a with a pretty bad concussion so most of it got blanked out. All he knows for sure is that something happened and his dad kicked his ass.)

“Dean, you seem tense.”

“I’m fine, I was just thinking about something.”

Eileen comes in then, probably for a snack, and all Dean catches is “how are you” before she and Cas are just talking too fast for him to keep track of. He can understand if she’s talking to Sam because Sam’s also not quite fluent and she slows down then, but Cas knows every language ever so there’s nothing to throw up a buffer. Dean picks out a few things here and there, mostly Cas bringing up his name a lot, plus the words “hurt,” “sad,” “love.” Clearly nothing ominous here.

After a couple minutes Dean gets cranky.

“Are you guys gonna let me in on this or should I just go?” he asks, able to make most of the words with his hands while he says them.

 _“Sorry, I was worried about him and got excited,”_ Eileen explains. _“But I think he’ll be okay now.”_

Now he just feels like a dick, because he didn’t even think of that. So he nods. “Thank you.” He does the sign. “Sorry for - uh, yelling. I’m worried about him, too.” He’s such a bastard.

_“I understand, Dean.”_

She tells Cas one more time that she’s glad he’s okay, then she digs up some snack and leaves with it, probably to eat while she snuggles up to Sam on the couch. Honestly, as much as Dean usually loves to give Sammy flak about everything all the time, he does think they’re cute together even though he’ll never actually say that.

“Dean, I’m tired, can you please get me another sandwich?”

“Eating won’t make you less tired,” Dean laughs. “You need a nap, man. C’mon, you can borrow my bed, it’s the best one in here and you won’t wake up with back pain.”

“Yes, an absence of back pain is desirable,” Cas agrees.

Dean hangs onto his shoulder to keep him steady - he’s pretty sure the irony isn’t lost on either of them about that. Cas is shaky and weak, but thank Jack he doesn’t actually trip or fall. Dean gets his friend settled in, all wrapped in blankets like those things butterflies grow in. And he stays until Cas falls asleep.

After that, though, Dean’s got shit to take care of. He gets a bedroom put together, which doesn’t mean much actually, just that he sticks the laptop and the packs of underwear and socks in one of the ones that’s not occupied. He kinda… doesn’t want to, though. He kinda wants to buy a second bed and - no, that wouldn’t work, his room isn’t big enough for two adult-size beds. No. Okay. He wants to buy a _slightly bigger_ bed. Yeah, that could work. He wants to buy a slightly bigger bed and just keep Cas nearby.

Wait a minute.

Shit.

Dean groans at himself and goes to find Sam, because who the fuck else is he gonna talk to about this right now. This sucks. This sucks so bad, it’s Dean’s fault Cas has been so miserable all these years when he could’ve fixed _everything_ if he’d just stopped and thought about a couple things for five damn minutes.

“Sammy?” Dean yells, grabbing himself a beer first because he fucking needs it, man.

“Yeah?”

Of course, Eileen is there too when Dean comes in. He cracks his beer and takes a long gulp of it, then sets it down so his hands are free.

“I have a problem. I think.”

“Okay. Um. What kind of problem?”

“I think. I might have a thing for Cas.” It’s weird trying to come up with the way to mimic that statement with his hands, which Eileen’s eyes are glued to. Dean clears his throat to stall. “But he’s sleeping right now, so I can’t talk to him. And I feel like a dick-” Another thing he can’t really translate to signing. “-because it’s my fault he’s unhappy.”

Eileen nods, then elbows Sammy. _“Less than a week, pay up!”_

Sam growls and starts digging for his wallet.

“Fucking seriously?” Dean snaps, forgetting to sign.

“Dude, you’re about as subtle as… y’know what, that doesn’t even work! There’s pretty much nothing on _earth_ as unsubtle as the crush you’ve had on Cas for the past decade. Actually he’s the only thing less subtle than you, you’re both just thick.”

“Thank you, Sammy, for making this easier on me and not being a complete dick about it when I already feel bad enough about this as it is,” he yells.

“Alright, I’m sorry.” At least he actually does look sorry when he says that. “So he’s uh, sleeping? Why don’t you just wake him up and talk?”

“Because he just came back from the dead and deserves a fucking nap.”

“Fair. Okay. Dean, whatever you do, don’t overcomplicate this. There are exactly zero problems here. Just make him another sandwich, give it to him when he wakes up, and tell him you love him. And everything will be fixed, I guarantee it. But also you should apologize to him for being a dumbass, too. Because that’s totally on you.”

“Awesome.”

So Dean goes to the kitchen and makes a sandwich.

He doesn’t stay there, though. He does the sandwich and puts it in the fridge, then sneaks back into his own damn bedroom to sit in the chair at the desk and wait for Cas to get up. His angel. Technically not an angel at all anymore, because Jack’s solution to the thing with the Empty was to purge his grace and reimburse him with a soul, but still. He’ll always be an angel to Dean. Also he has no right to look that pretty when he’s sleeping, most people drool and snore and whatever else but Cas is still unreasonably, devastatingly gorgeous.

Damn, Dean’s such a fucking sap for this guy. How didn’t he notice until now?

He checks his watch a couple times, but mostly just for curiosity reasons. It’s not a chore for him at all, because he knows Cas is okay and the Empty hasn’t tried to snatch him back or something. That’s Dean’s new biggest fear, like he doesn’t have enough fear and especially enough giant nightmare-inducing fears already. He can’t lose Cas again, not after that. Not after everything. And now that Cas is human, vulnerable, mortal…

Dean can’t ever say this to anybody, but it suddenly comes to him now. He knows beyond any shadow of reasonable doubt that if he has to suffer it all over again, if he has to see Cas die one more time, then he’s gonna fucking shoot himself because he just can’t do that anymore. He _can’t._

Cas naps for about an hour and fifteen minutes, and once he starts grumbling and stretching Dean sits up a little straighter.

“Feeling better?”

“Mph… Dean?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought watching others sleep was socially unacceptable.”

“Yeah, usually, I just figured… y’know what, it’s not important.” Dean’s not interested in unpacking all his trauma right now. “Hey, you want another sandwich? I gotta tell you something but if you’re hungry that can happen first.”

“Alright.”

Dean doesn’t grab Cas by the shoulder this time - instead, he holds his hand. Cas looks really surprised about that, but in a good way. He gives up the peanut butter sandwich and then starts talking.

“So uh. I was thinking about some stuff earlier. And - Cas, I’m a fucking dumbass, okay?”

Cas almost chokes. “Dean, I wish you wouldn’t say or think things like that.”

“Yeah, I know, but in this case it’s actually true. I suck at feelings, first of all.”

“Yes, I’ve… noticed.”

“And it took me until this afternoon to figure out that.” Dean rubs his hand over his hair, there’s no reason this should be so hard. “Y’know, your uh. Your deathbed confession. Dammit, I know what I’m tryna say here!” Words suck. They’re too hard, and Dean’s getting all frustrated and pissed off now. Cas just looks confused as hell. “Look, it recently occurred to me that I want your feathery ass around until the day I die and there’s gonna be snuggling and other cute shit that Sammy’s gonna tease us both for in your immediate future,” he finally gets out, sounding way more demanding than he means to.

Cas sets down his sandwich and rubs his face. “Dean. _Please._ Think about what you really want to tell me and then try to use words, I have no idea what you’re trying to say.”

Damn, Sam wasn’t kidding. They really _are_ both thick-skulled dipshits, aren’t they?

But Dean does what Cas asked, and he’s got a deep breath and then four words. “Cas, I… love you.”

“Like family.”

“No, yes, _no._ Not like family as in _related,_ uh, family like… the person you. Get married to,” Dean chokes out. Cas just stares at him in silence. “Oh c’mon, Cas! I don’t know how to be any blunter this time!”

“No, I understand, I was just extremely shocked,” Cas says eventually. “I wasn’t expecting you to say that, or to reciprocate my feelings.”

“Sam and Eileen had a bet going on us. We’re dumb, Cas. We’re both really, _really_ dumb, okay? We could’a had this fixed years ago if we were anybody else but us.”

“Yes, that’s probably true,” Cas nods, completely missing Dean’s cynical humor like always. And then somehow his face gets even more serious than usual. “Dean, I know that you’re generally not well-acquainted with your emotions and that you have, putting it nicely, extensive psychological trauma. It’s not reasonable to expect you to be the best at communicating your problems or needs. But I am going to ask that you put in some amount of effort to do so instead of holding everything inside and waiting for it to explode at an inopportune moment.”

Which is completely fair and he knows it. “Okay, I’ll try.”

“Thank you. And in return I’m going to also do my best to gain a more thorough understanding of human emotions so that I can be better at communicating with you.”

“Sure, yeah. Sounds good.”

Dean randomly remembers this weird thing Sam was rambling on about once when they were kids, how he read in a book about the way people make stained glass and blah-blah-blah, and to make blue glass they use cobalt. And Dean wonders if cobalt is actually blue or if it’s used to make the blue for the glass, but either way that’s what Cas’ eyes remind him of, blue stained glass in windows. Cas is just unreasonably pretty, especially his eyes. And these eyes are staring at Dean, but in a different kinda way from how Cas usually stares at things.

“Dean, are we now in a relationship?”

“Uh…” The word totally catches him off guard. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Dean sits next to him at the table and they hold hands while he finishes eating his sandwich.

**Author's Note:**

> My other SPN fics can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Bfandom_ids%5D%5B%5D=27&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Aaron_The_8th_Demon).
> 
> Comments welcome.


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